


The Poison Tree

by endofmeandeverything



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: AU, Psychics, Reincarnation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofmeandeverything/pseuds/endofmeandeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was nothing particularly remarkable about the body on the table: male, middle-aged, no visible wounds.  Dead not long enough for rigor mortis to set in.  Handsome.  After a cursory visual examination, Lee got the sinking feeling he’d been summoned to the morgue at two in the morning for very little reason.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Lee gets a late-night call, he thinks he's in for more overtime and more than overdue for a raise.  He very quickly finds himself neck-deep in more trouble than he could ever imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Where’d you find him?” Lee asked, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the body on the table: male, middle-aged, no visible wounds.  Dead not long enough for rigor mortis to set in.  Handsome.  After a cursory visual examination, Lee got the sinking feeling he’d been summoned to the morgue at two in the morning for very little reason.

Dean popped a shrug in his direction and shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform.  “Alley downtown, behind some trash bins. Nothing interesting about the scene, but Adam got a gut feeling so here you are.”

Incredulous, Lee asked: “You called me out of bed at two a.m. because Adam got a feeling?”  He stifled an enormous yawn.  This was the third “feeling” he’d been pulled out of bed for this week and he was starting to feel the sleep deprivation.  Just yesterday Aidan had told him to go home and sleep when he swayed and yawned over the last cadaver before lunch.  Lee would have, too, but he was sure he’d be out of a job if he left any tech assistant alone in the autopsy room, and Aidan was a wild force even with Lee looking over his shoulder. 

His only reply was Dean’s apologetic smile.  “You know I always humor him.  His hunches are always on; remember the Smith case last year?”

Dean was the more experienced detective by years and his reverence for his subordinate partner’s “hunches” had always confused Lee.  At first he’d thought it was some kind of favoritism, that they were fucking (or wanted to), but Dean’s disgustingly affectionate manner toward his current girlfriend defied that assumption.  The realization had forced Lee to accept the fact that Adam might just be a prodigy.  (It had also forced him to accept the fact that he himself needed to get laid so he stopped thinking everything came down to sex.  That had been almost a year ago and he still hadn’t had any better company than his right hand.)

Lee sighed and waved off the reminder.  “I know: he’s a genius.  Hey you, get back out there and protect our innocent citizens.  But I swear, if I find out he’s some bum who drank himself to death on your shift, you and Officer Psychic owe me coffee every morning for a week.”

Dean clapped him heartily on the shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze.  “You’re the best.  Adam also got a ‘feeling’ you were going to be less than happy with him; he’s across the street getting you a Starbucks.  Keep you going tonight.”

Of course.  Lee’s irritation subsided and he rolled his eyes and smiled.  “All right, all right, I forgive you guys.”

“Good.”  Adam appeared in the doorway, holding a large steaming cup in his left hand.  He smiled and held out his peace offering.  “I was afraid I was getting on your nerves, calling you so late so often.”

The young man moved into the autopsy room to hand over his much-appreciated bribe and lean over the man laid out on the table.  “Thank you for coming in so often lately.”  Adam’s benevolent expression faded, and he frowned down at the body, tucking his arms over his chest.  He looked thoughtful, and Lee assumed he’d give some insight into his mysterious hunches, but all he said was:  “You’ll call me when you have a report?”

“Doesn’t he always?”  Dean shot a concerned look at Lee behind Adam’s back.  He mouthed something, but Lee couldn’t make it out. “Come on, we’re still on shift.  Let’s get out of the way so Lee can—“

Lee choked down a fortifying sip of dark, bitter coffee.  “Why’s this bothering you so much?” he asked quickly.  Something in Adam’s expression tugged at him.  Perhaps he’d begun to see why Dean trusted him so much.  There was something compelling about the surety on his face.

The question drew a contemplative noise from Adam, who sighed and turned away from the body.  “I’m not sure.  I feel like something’s going on.  This guy, the two last week….  I know there aren’t any obvious connections, but I can’t shake the thought that they _are_ all connected.  Somehow.”  There was a brief silence before Adam sighed.  “It’s probably nothing.”

Dean snorted.  “It’s never ‘nothing’ with you.  Now come on.  The sooner Lee starts, the sooner we’ll know.”

“And the sooner I can go home,” Lee joked.  “Now scoot.”

The two officers disappeared into the night, the clang of the door closing behind them echoing loudly in the empty morgue, though not as loudly as Lee’s sigh.  “Well,” he said to the nameless body on the table, “let’s see what you’ve got to tell me.”

Methodically, he adjusted the lights over the table, stripping the corpse and putting the clothes aside in case they needed examination later.  He stared down at the man’s pale face.  “Too bad.  You were quite a looker.” 

He fetched his hand-held recorder and began the physical description as he washed and measured the body.  But when he opened the eyelid to check the eye color, he hesitated; he swore he’d seen the pupil dilate. He shook his head as if to clear it and put it down to the late hour and the rush of caffeine kicking in.  It was impossible in any case; nevertheless, a strange weight in his chest warned Lee against opening the lid to check again.  Moments later, as he weighed the body, he thought he saw a finger twitch where the hand rested flat against the metal of the table.

“I need more sleep,” he muttered to himself, hoping it was low enough that the voice recorder didn’t pick it up.  Then, even quieter: “And a raise.”  He dug his fingers into his eyes until his vision went white.

As he proceeded with the measurements a sudden rush of anxiety made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  He froze.  Cautiously, he looked over his shoulder.  He was alone.

Lee had never been easily frightened, or particularly superstitious, but as he collected the samples of hair and nail he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him nor could he stop the intermittent tremor in his hands. Desperately he shook his head, as if he could shake the feeling free.  Of course no one was watching him; he was alone here. Or perhaps Dean and Adam had called Aidan in to help him; he left his work and went to look up and down the darkened hallway.

Lee looked left, then right, and called out softly: “Aidan?” 

The tentative call returned to him four times over.  Somehow the eerie echo made him hesitant to call out again.

His skin began to crawl.  He checked the length of the hallway again, heart hammering, then huffed in frustration and sagged against the door frame.  “I’ll be in an institution at this rate.  It’ll be hilarious.  ‘Coroner mauled by zombies’.  Aidan would have a field day.”  A snort of forced laughter failed to drown his anxiety.  “Back to work,” he told himself.  He closed the door to the hallway.  After a brief moment of hesitation in which he tried to swallow the slow creeping fear, he locked it, too, and turned back to his work—

—his work who was standing naked on the other side of table, stance wide, staring intently at him with pale blue eyes.  There was no consciousness in those eyes: they were devoid of any identifiably human emotion.

Lee’s heart stopped, his throat slammed shut on a scream and he froze in place: a picture of prey in a predator’s line of sight.  He struggled to breathe, to speak, to call for help.  It had to be a prank: Aidan had set it up with Dean, Adam had been tasked to give him the creeps with his mysterious nonsense, he was going to kill his friends, he really was—

He let out a strangled cry and tried to flee when the corpse let out a predatory growl and he lunged forward with impossible speed, leaping across the table and slamming Lee back against the door so violently that he heard his skull crack against the wood.  One large hand slammed against his face, stifling the desperate scream he let out and jerking his head to the side.  The pain of confinement was quickly overtaken when teeth tore into his throat; he let out another yell and began to thrash in the man’s grip.  Lee wasn’t a small man, nor weak, but all his efforts were in vain; the man held him pinned with no effort, oblivious to Lee’s fists where they pounded against his chest and shoulders.  Vaguely Lee heard grunts: deep and animalistic, in his ear.  He fought tooth and nail, biting the man’s palm, but the man just bore against him harder and held his face hard enough to bruise

Lee’s vision was fading, his breath coming short, and despite his panic his limbs were tingling, losing feeling.  Lee moaned helplessly and thought: _I’m dying_.  It confused him, and he went limp in the man’s hold. His head fell back.  As weakness—severe blood loss, his brain told him, and possible shock—overwhelmed him, the fear set in.  He began to slide down, then suddenly the man released him and he fell to the floor.

That corpse loomed over him, open mouth smeared with blood, dollops rolling down his throat.  Spasms wracked Lee’s limbs.   He wished he could move to defend himself, but his body wouldn’t respond. Mostly he felt cold.  Self-awareness returned to those cold eyes and the man gaped down at him, raising one trembling hand to wipe the blood from his face.  He looked at Lee, then at his bloody fingers.  Then he knelt abruptly, tucking a hand under Lee’s head to hold him still.

“Oh, God,” the man said, voice low.  “Good God, I’m so sorry.”  He sounded confused, blinking rapidly like someone just woken from a deep sleep.

 _What a looker_ , Lee thought again, deliriously; he would’ve laughed at himself if he could’ve.

Large hands cradled his face in foul mimicry of a lover’s caress.  “Look at me,” he commanded.  “Look into my eyes. Calm down.”

There was a strange light in his eyes as he gazed intently down; Lee couldn’t look away—everything else faded from his mind.  He felt his heartbeat slowing, his breathing coming at longer and long intervals. He knew he was dying, but even that thought was distant as a strange calm settled over him.  The fear faded.   “See?  Hush,” the man said, thumbs stroking his cheeks.  “You’ll be all right.”

But then the man bent over him and tucked his face under Lee’s jaw again and Lee twitched violently, used the last of his meager breath to beg: “No—please.  Please.”

“Sh,” the man breathed against his skin.  It would have been erotic under other circumstances—Lee hated that the last thought that would inhabit him was that he hadn’t gotten laid since Carter had left him. 

The wet press of tongue shocked him.  There was a press of lips, and another long swipe of tongue.

Everything went dark.

 

 

Bright light.  Very bright light.  Cold.  Cold metal.  Pain.  His head throbbed.  His throat burned.  His body ached in every extremity.

Consciousness returned at the touch of cool fingertips to his temple.

“Are you awake, then?”

That voice was low, soothing, and painfully familiar for reasons Lee couldn’t remember.  Memories returned slowly; his mind was clouded. Lee suspected he had a concussion considering how faded his vision was as he blinked up at the face above him.  He focused on those blue eyes.

Suddenly he remembered.

With a gasp, he jolted upright and his head collided with the man’s nose.  Panicked, he rolled over and fell hard off the edge of the gurney, staggering to his feet and backing himself into a corner to hold himself up, one hand thrown out in front of him as if it were any sort of protection.

Every panicked beat of his heart made his head throb.

The man held up both hands as if in surrender.  Blood—darker than it should have been and wasn’t that strange?—dripped unheeded from his nose.  “Please,” he said, “don’t be afraid.”

“Are you insane? You tried to kill me!” Lee could barely stand.  He could see his own outstretched hand tremble with the effort it took him to remain upright.

A sheepish expression came over the man’s face.  “I am sorry about that.  I can assure you I didn’t intend to kill you.”

Lee could only gape in disbelief.

“Please,” the man coaxed, “come and sit down.  You’re not well.”

“You’re joking.”

“Please.  I promise I will not harm you.”

Too weak to continue to stand, Lee sank to his knees in the corner.  He wrapped his arms around himself as if that might help him control his trembling.

He wondered how long he’d been unconscious.  The man had obviously bathed in the large sink; every sign of their earlier struggle had been wiped away and his black hair was damp.  Somehow he’d retrieved his clothes and dressed himself.  “You already harmed me.”

The look he received was mournful.  “I know.  That was…a mistake.  I’ll explain shortly.  Please, come and sit down.  You threw off the blanket when you woke and you should be warm.”  He lifted the white sheet that had been draped over his own corpse earlier that night and took a few tentative steps toward Lee.  He held it out.

“Stay away from me!” Lee snapped.  He lurched to his feet in preparation to run but the man stood tall between him and the door and even if he managed to get past him, Lee was sure in his heart he wouldn’t make it very far.  He was weak, and the man was preternaturally fast.

The man retreated to his earlier position, holding up his hands once more.  “I could make you come to me, you know.  I don’t want to, but I need to see to your wound.”  His eyes were trained on Lee’s, though it was difficult for Lee to keep his own focused.  _The concussion_ , Lee told himself as the world began to dim again, _I’m concussed_.

“You just tried to…what, eat me?”  His voice sounded hazy to his own ears, as if he were drunk.

Surprisingly, this earned him a small laugh.  “Yes, actually.  I am sorry.  I wasn’t…in my right mind.  I assure you I have full command of my faculties.  It will not happen again.” He took one step forward and his eyes changed again, taking on that eerie glowing tone.

“You should be in an mental hospi— no, you stay away from me!”

A hand on his shoulder shocked him into looking up into the man’s face.  His mouth fell open: when had he moved? How had he gotten so close?  Where was the solid weight of the wall at his back?  And why was he sitting on the autopsy table with the dead man standing between his knees and dabbing warm water against the wound in his throat.

“I told you I could force you and I did.  I haven’t hurt you again, have I?”

Water dripped down to soak the sheet draped over his shoulders.  Lee shivered.  “Yet. Who are you?”

“My name is Richard.”

Lee scoffed, but the pain in his neck was fading with every gentle caress.  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Richard gave a small smile.  “I think you know what I am.”

Lee shook his head, groaning when the motion only increased the pounding in his skull.  “No.  No, there’s no such thing.  I don’t believe in….”

“Vampires?”

Lee blinked.  “I was going to say ‘zombies’.”

The laugh this prompted spawned liquid heat in Lee’s belly; his shaking subsided.  Still wary, he flinched at every touch of the cloth against his bared throat.

“What on earth would give you the impression I was a zombie, of all things?”  Richard looked at him from the corner of his eye, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Lee shrugged.  “You were dead. I saw you lying there.  You were dead and now you’re walking around like…as if….”  He waved one hand.  “And you just said you were going to eat me!  So, you know, zombie?”

The proclamation earned him another one of those rumbling chuckles.  (Truth be told, once the explanation was out of his mouth it sounded stupid to Lee, too).  Richard went to rinse the bloody cloth in the sink, wringing out pinkish water before folding it carefully.  Lee had expected him to dispose of it, but he might have sworn that the man tucked it into the pocket of his wrinkled slacks.  “I’m certainly not a zombie.”

“Only a vampire?” Lee scoffed.  He drew the sheet closer around his shoulders.  It was thin and did little to keep the cold of the morgue at bay.

“Yes, I suppose that’s the best word for it,” Richard replied calmly.  He returned to lean back against the autopsy table Lee currently perched on.  He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. 

“I don’t believe in vampires either,” Lee insisted.  Their shoulders nearly touched when Richard shrugged.

“You said yourself you saw me dead, ready for your knife.  Well?  Will you deny the evidence of your eyes?”

Lee stared at his hands pressed between his knees, wringing his knuckles.  After a moment, he ventured: “Crazy people do all sorts of things.  Maybe you escaped from some mental hospital somewhere and get your kicks scaring the living daylights out of unsuspecting coroners.  Maybe you’re a method actor.  Maybe you’re in one of those crazy cults: I saw a documentary once….  Maybe you think you need blood because you’re low on iron.  When’s the last time you had a nice rare steak?”

The feeble joke fell into a moment of silence. Lee risked a glance from the corner of his eye only to find Richard staring at him, apparently unruffled by Lee’s slightly frantic outburst.  “Will you have more proof?” he murmured, unfolding his arms and turning to face Lee.  He reached out and took Lee’s wrist, pulling him closer.

The abruptness of the movement startled him and Lee tried to jerk away, but the hand wrapped around his wrist was too firm.  Richard, still gazing at him impassively, pressed Lee’s hand against his chest and then covered it with his own to prevent escape.

The flesh beneath the shirt was cool but strong and Lee hissed in a breath as the heat in his belly flared and spread through him.  He shuddered as Richard’s fingers tightened just a little more around his wrist.  “Well?” Richard asked calmly.

Lee wondered whether his confused attraction was written across his face; he wondered whether Richard’s pulse fluttered like his own, whether his heart—

The realization struck him with revulsion and he jerked away. This time Richard let him go. 

“Well?”

“That’s impossible.”  Lee stumbled off the table and reached out to press his fingertips into the hollow beneath the man’s jaw.  Desperate to find some confirmation that this was all an elaborate prank, he pressed hard enough that it must have been painful.  A minute—two: still, nothing.  No flicker of life.  Richard let him do what he would, a small smile playing at his lips when Lee finally dropped his hand and gaped at him.  “You haven’t got a pulse!   Your heart—it’s impossible!” he repeated.

His bewilderment must have shown on his face, because Richard shook his head and said: “Poor child.”

“I’m thirty-three,” Lee responded automatically.  Then the implication of the condescension struck home and he blinked.  “What, so you’re old?  You’re telling me you’re a hundred-and-something?  Two hundred-and-whatever?”

That earned him another deep chuckle.  “Something like that.”

“What are you still doing here?  It’s,” Lee checked his watch, “almost six in the morning.  Don’t you have to crawl back into a coffin somewhere before the sun comes up?”  The moment the words were out, Lee felt foolish. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.  What did his rudeness matter anyway, when this man had just taken a sizeable chunk out of his neck?

“I’m responsible for you.  I wanted to make sure you were all right before I turned into a bat and vanished into the night.”  Lee realized the last words were a gentle jibe and ducked his head.  Richard jostled him with one shoulder.  “I said ‘vampire’ was the best word.  My existence isn’t quite…as you would imagine.  I am perfectly capable of walking under the sun.”

“I hope the garlic thing isn’t true either,” Lee joked, surprised at how comfortable he felt now.  “I couldn’t imagine living forever without Italian food.”

The look Richard aimed at him was overly-familiar, unbearably fond as, if they were lovers rather than strangers, and Lee had an inexplicable desire to ask what he was thinking.  But something warned him against it, so he just cleared his throat and looked away so he wouldn’t be tempted.  Tentative fingertips brushed his cheek, but retreated quickly when Lee jolted and his eyes went wide.  When he looked over, Richard looked abashed.

“That was presumptuous,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”

Lee wanted to say _Don’t be_ , but Richard pushed on brusquely.

“You are right about one thing: I do need to go.  You appear to be mostly recovered, though I suspect you may be tired today. I’m sure you’ll be back to your cheerful self by suppertime this evening.”

“You’re leaving?” The disappointment Lee felt was surprising.  As Richard gave him an opaque smile, another thought occurred to him.  “You can’t…wait! What am I going to tell police?  I lost a cadaver?  It got up and walked off?”

“I’ll have it taken care of,” Richard assured him, shrugging his thick black coat over his shoulders and buttoning it easily. 

Wary, Lee eyed him and followed him as he made his way to the door.  “That had better not mean what I think it means,” he warned.  “I really don’t want to be party to people murdering my friends.”

Richard put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze.  If the grip was a bit too tight, or the touch lingered a bit too long, Lee wasn’t complaining.  “I’m not going to kill anyone.  This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation, and I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble on my behalf.  Trust me to take care of it.”

“All right,” Lee said, hesitant.

With that, Richard just nodded and unlocked the door and strode out into the hallway.  Pale morning sun was already streaming in through the large glass doors at the eastern end of the hall, casting Richard’s shadow long across the tile.  His brisk footsteps resonated, marking the brisk tempo of his escape.

Lee ran a few stumbling steps after him and finally stopped, still breathless and weak.  “So is this just…goodbye?” he called.  The thought wounded him.

The long silhouette paused, one hand on the door handle, and turned back toward him.  “I’m afraid so,” Richard said.  Though he only murmured the response, the words carried easily and Lee’s throat convulsed on a myriad of protests.

“Wait!” he pleaded, but Richard only pushed through the double doors and hurried down the steps, turning onto Wellington Road and vanishing.


	2. Chapter 2

A week passed, and the odd night at the morgue began to seem more and more like a dream or some hallucination Lee’s brain had conjured up to deal with his increasingly-sleepless nights.  The fact that neither Dean nor Adam had asked after the now-missing corpse only cemented the idea that he’d made the whole thing up. 

Nevertheless, he took to locking his door and his windows at night.  He even, though he would never admit it, got into the habit of leaving his bathroom light on while he slept.  How he’d gone from absolute certainty that there were no such thing as monsters to cowering beneath his blankets like a child made him feel like a fool.  As each night passed and nothing more unusual than a surprise visit from a neighbor looking for an egg occurred, his certainty that he was being irrational only grew.

The next Monday he left his house early enough that the sun was only just spreading pink fingers over the horizon, and ducked in to pick up a coffee from a sleepy young barista before heading to work.  He’d spent most of the weekend on his couch, and he was hoping for a small workload so he could escape early and perhaps make a dent in the growing pile of dirty laundry accumulating in the corner of his bedroom.

He mounted the steps to the morgue and jingled his keys in his hand, only to find the wide double doors already unlocked.  Though it was strange for Aidan to turn up before he did, it wasn’t unheard of.  Perhaps Aidan was intent on getting off work early, too: he hoped so, that meant he wouldn’t spend most of his prep time messing around.

 “Am I late?” he called as he shed his coat and scarf, dropping them onto the old rack in his office.  He clutched the hot coffee in his hands as the chill of the building sunk through his sweater.  “Aidan?”  He took a deep drink.  “What are you doing here so early?”

His desk was refreshingly clear: there were only police reports, neatly paper-clipped and ready for him.  A quick glance over the paperwork told him in Adam’s loopy handwriting that the causes of death were obvious.  Lee was grateful for the light load; if he was lucky and Aidan was as motivated for time off as he was himself, he might also get to the grocery store for the first time in three weeks.

“Aidan?” he called again, shuffling the paperwork and tucking it into his clipboard; distractedly, he searched for a pen and cursed his inability to remember to put a cup on his desk so he didn’t have to go through the same old song-and-dance every morning.  “Ah!”  He spotted it beneath his desk and slid out of his chair to crawl beneath and reach for it.

The front doors slammed open just as he stood again and he yelped, banging his head against the underside of his desk.  “Shit!”

“Hello!” Aidan hollered.  “You better not have showed up at six again this morning!”

Lee cursed under his breath and rubbed the growing bruise as he dropped into his chair again.  His tech assistant appeared in the doorway of his office, shedding his winter coat—and of course he wouldn’t put it on the rack where it belonged; instead he draped it over the back of a chair.  “Tell me you didn’t?”  Aidan shivered and rubbed his hands up and down his arms.

“Didn’t what?”  Unfortunately, it looked like Aidan wasn’t in as serious a mood as Lee had hoped.

An exaggerated roll of these eyes greeted his question.  “Stay all night again.  I didn’t think we had that much work—or did our favorite officers call in another favor?  You should really tell them to knock it off: it’s making me feel lazy!”

“I didn’t,” Lee murmured, blinking at him confusedly.  “Are you just getting here?”

“Obviously.  Coffee not kicked in yet?”  Still rubbing warmth back into his flesh, Aidan dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk.

Lee frowned.  “You forgot to lock up last night,” he said.  “I know you were eager to get out of here, but you can’t forget to—”

“I didn’t forget.”  Aidan cocked his head and withdrew his set of keys from the pocket of his jeans.  “I mean, I almost did, but I only made it to the bus stop before I remembered.  Had to wait another hour before the next bus, too.”

“You could have called me for a ride,” Lee murmured, processing this.  Usually he appreciated the fact that he lived just down the road: his apartment was small, but the short walk to work and the proximity to Greenwood Park definitely made up for the egregiously large sum he paid in rent.  He felt badly that Aidan lived halfway across town and had to make two transfers just to get to work.

Aidan only snorted. “You were probably already asleep.  I’ll never forget the time I called you about dinner and you were already sacked out.”

“You’ll never let me forget it, either,” Lee teased.  The weight of the unlocked door weighed heavy on his mind, though.  With a sigh, he let Aidan go through the paperwork as he downed the rest of his coffee.  “Not a big load today.”  Aidan made a small noise of agreement as he scanned the police reports.  “Hopefully we can get out of here—”

“Seems like there’re a lot of obvious homicides lately,” Aidan interrupted.  “Weird ones, too.  Isn’t this something like the third one where the guy’s throat was ripped out?”  Aidan sighed and tossed the paperwork back onto the desk, leaning back in his chair and tucking his hands behind his head.  He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.  “Maybe there’s a den of vampires around here?”

Lee choked on his last swallow.  “What?”  He hoped he wasn’t flushing.

“Kidding!  Jeez, you’re cagey lately.”  Aidan leaned forward and cocked his head again, this time genuinely inquisitive.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  You’ve been a little weird all week.”

“Fine.”  Lee wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and ducked under his desk to throw away the empty cup.

“It’s not Carter, is it?” asked Aidan.  “He didn’t turn all ‘I-want-you-back-baby’ on you, did he?”

Relieved at the detour the conversation had taken—though usually Carter was a sore point—Lee snorted.  “Hardly!”

“Another guy, then?  You seem like you’re waiting for some brick to drop on your head.  It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Sorry.”  Lee rubbed the back of his neck, abashed.  “It’s nothing, probably.  Like you said, I haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.”  Then, determined to leave his growing misgivings behind, he smiled and stood.  “So let’s get to work!  Like I said: it’s a small load today so we should be out of here in no time.  I might actually get to have something besides microwaved pizza for dinner tonight.”

Aidan held his hand up in an overly-solemn imitation of a Boy Scout’s pledge.  “No messing around, then, I swear.”  He grinned and swayed to his feet, grabbing the back of Lee’s head and offering him a very wet, very noisy kiss on the cheek.  “I’d only do it for you.”

But ten minutes later, Lee’s evening plans were abruptly curtailed.  His mouth fell open as he gazed in confusion and disappointment at the empty table.

“What the hell?”  Aidan managed to voice the very thought running through Lee’s mind.

“I didn’t misread the paperwork, did I?” Lee asked.  He groped blindly for the clipboard, squinting down at the words and twisting the paper as though that might change was was written there.  “It says….  No, I’m not wrong.  He should be here.”

“I’ll check the other coolers?” The pitch of Aidan’s voice made it clear that he doubted they’d find their missing cadaver anywhere.

“Please.” 

Lee started at one end of the short row of refrigerated holding cells and Aidan started at the other, opening each with increasing trepidation.  “He’s not—” he began, but Aidan interrupted.

“Not here.  Did you want to call the commissioner?  I mean, he couldn’t have just got up and walked off, could he have?”  He gaped at Lee, confusion writ large on his face.  Something in Lee’s face must have stricken him as off, because he leaned closer.  “Could he?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

Lee swallowed hard.  “Of course he couldn’t have.  It was late last night.  It was probably just a bungled transfer.  Like you said, there’ve been a lot of homicides lately; the department’s probably just overwhelmed.  We’ll just call in and get it all sorted out.”  The excuse sounded weak even to Lee’s ears.

In a poor attempt at humor, Aidan anticipated what he was going to say.  “Brown was the reporting officer, wasn’t he?  Man, that guy’s a magnet for weird stuff!  Nice guy, though: I wouldn’t want to get him into trouble.  Maybe call him first?  Before we let the commissioner know that we’re missing a body?”

Anxious and still twitching with shock, Lee attempted to break the tension in the air.  “You only want to call because you’re hoping he’s still on shift and standing next to Dean.”

“I would never!  That’s unprofessional!”  But Aidan grinned and raised one eyebrow.  “Unprofessional and dumb.  They got off shift two hours ago, didn’t they?”

Lee smiled.  “I won’t comment on the fact that you know their schedules.  _I’ll_ call; I’m already looking at working all day.  I can’t imagine how much longer I’ll be here if you manage to get him on the phone and I have to listen to you flirt for an hour before you get down to business.”   With the tension diffused, Lee returned to his office to find his cell and dial up Adam.

The man answered promptly, his soft voice filled with sleepiness.  Guilt sunk in—Lee of all people knew how hard it was to work nights.  “I’m sorry,” he began.

“Of course not.”  He could hear Adam’s smile in his voice.  “This isn’t revenge for last week, is it?”  Then, in a much more serious tone: “It’s about that Brophy character, isn’t it?”

Lee blinked, unable to respond for the moment. Though by now he knew better than to be surprised by Adam’s preternatural ability to know what he was calling about before he ever opened his mouth, it always managed to steal his voice.  He cleared his throat.  “It is, yeah.”

“What’s going on?  Was there something wrong with the report?  Or something strange about the wounds?”  All traces of sleepiness had faded from Adam’s voice.

“No, no.  It’s not that.  It’s…this is going to sound strange, but he’s missing.”  Lee sighed heavily.  It sounded foolish even to his ears.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.  “What?”

Lee winced. “Gone.  Vanished.”

“That’s impossible.”

 Lee groaned, pressing his fingers into his eyes.  He’d experienced more impossible things recently than any person should have to in one lifetime. “I know!  That’s what Aidan says.  The fact remains that we can’t find him.  The other guy is there, but Brophy’s…just vanished.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Adam ventured: “Would you mind it terribly if I came in?”

“You just got off!  I was only wondering if maybe one of you delayed the transfer.”

“We didn’t.  And, well, I’ve been thinking on things lately and I’d really rather come in.  Not if it’s going to interrupt your work, of course.  I know you’ve had a heavy load lately and I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

Aidan appeared in the doorway to the office, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest.  “He’s coming in?” he mouthed silently, and Lee nodded and waved him away: _go and start prep_.  Aidan wrinkled his nose.

“You wouldn’t be in the way.”

The smile in Adam’s voice was audible. “All right, then.  Give me just an hour?”

“Done.  Thank you.”

 

 

Adam appeared rather more promptly than the estimated hour, his hair still mussed from sleep and his shirt half untucked.  He was obviously still tired, running a hand over his head as he plopped heavily down across the desk from Lee.

“I won’t take long,” he offered.  Lee just smiled and held out the police reports that Adam undoubtedly already knew by heart.

“Don’t worry about it.  I put Aidan to doing all the prep work for the other so I’ve got time.  Besides, I’m betting we’ll _both_ be in trouble in we don’t get this taken care of.”

As he thought, Adam only gave the paperwork a cursory glance before he sighed and placed it back on the desk.  For a moment his hand lingered on the first page, as if he was considering picking it back up, but then he leaned back.  “I know you don’t think much of me,” Adam began.

“That’s not true!”  The objection burst out violently; Lee was actually quite fond of Adam Brown, and more than appreciative of the effect he’d had on reclusive Dean.

Adam just smiled and held up a peaceable hand to forestall any other outbursts.  “I don’t mean that,” he soothed.  “I mean I know you’re doubtful of my particular brand of…investigation.  No, wait, let me finish.  It’s easy to see, and I think you’re right.  You have every right to be skeptical.  Of course.  I wish I could offer you better proof.”

“Maybe you will,” Lee murmured, hopeful.  Adam only shrugged; he’d always been unconcerned with others’ opinions of his strangeness.  As a peace offering, Lee added:  “I’ve been seeing a lot of things lately that are making me doubt my own grip on reality.”

This earned him an intent gaze from Adam; he struggled not to flush, and hoped Adam wouldn’t pursue that line of inquiry.  Luck wasn’t with him.  “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.  Well, nothing solid.”

“Who knows better than I do about ‘nothing solid’?  Why don’t you try me?”  Adam waited earnestly.  When Lee just gave him a sheepish, crooked smile, he made another offer: “I’ve got something strange to say, too, if it makes you feel better.  I’d definitely feel less silly if I knew I wasn’t the only one with unsubstantiated gut feelings.”

“It just seems like strange things have been happening lately.”  Lee decided almost immediately that telling Adam about his odd encounter with Richard was out of the question; that aside, he still wondered himself whether or not it had actually happened.

“The homicides?” Adam prompted gently.

“Well, yes.  I do think you’re right about them being related.”

“Six with similar wounds in the last month.”  Adam smiled.  “They did open an investigation, by the way, although Dean and I aren’t a part of it.  The commissioner didn’t find my reasons for wanting to head it up very compelling either.  I probably just stalled my career by even asking to be jumped up ahead of the more senior officers.  But go on.”

Lee rubbed the back of his neck.  “All that and…I’ve just felt someone watching me.  Or I think I have.  It’s nothing, it’s just that I’ve been tired lately.”

“Watching you?  Like a stalker?”

This drew a laugh from him.  “Yeah, I guess.  I don’t know.  It’s nothing…serious.  Just a weird feeling about all of this.”

“Well, then, at least you’re in good company.  I’ve been having weird feelings, too.  Do you remember when we brought that unidentified fellow last week?”

Lee froze in his chair, swallowing hard and pressing sweaty hands flat against his thighs.  Surely this conversation wasn’t going where he feared it was going; he was gripped by a sudden paroxysm of terror that in fact that strange night had actually happened.  After all, he’d just spent the entire previous week trying to convince himself otherwise.

But Adam just continued: “The morning after I got off that shift I bumped into a man in the parking lot.  He cut me with his keys—nothing serious, an accident, but I could have sworn…he looked a lot like our John Doe.  And then I can’t remember having got home.  I thought for a while I was just tired, maybe seeing things that weren’t there because I’ve been so convinced that something strange is going on, but then….  Well, Dean’s always listened.  I finally said something about it, and he said the same thing happened to him when he stopped by the precinct that afternoon to pick up some paperwork.  He said it definitely wasn’t the same man—this one was older, heavier set, bald.”  Adam shook his head.  “The look on his face when I was telling him—I could have sworn he was afraid.  Like I said, though, perhaps it might just be coincidence.  After all, I trust Dean when he says it was a different man, but…it’s such an odd thing to have happen.  Isn’t it?  How often does a stranger make you bleed?  And then that haze….”

Lee rubbed his face, sighing heavily.  It was difficult to escape the quickly-dawning realization that his life had just taken a violent turn toward the supernatural.  “I see.”

Adam gazed at him.  “You believe me,” he said, voice tinged with surprise.  His expression became more suspicious.  “Why?”

“I told you…just the heebie-jeebies.  Like your funny feeling.  Maybe we’re both just tired.”

But Adam wasn’t going to let him escape so easily.  He levered himself from the chair and moved to quietly shut the door, locking it.  Then he rounded the desk and put one hand on Lee’s shoulder.  “It’s more than that,” he insisted.  “I can tell.”

“I can’t….”

“We’re alone,” Adam insisted.

“I really, really can’t,” Lee said, groaning, slumping against the desk.  He rubbed his eyes hard.  “You’ll think I’m insane.”

“I won’t.  Promise.”  Then, with a teasing squeeze: “Pinky swear?”

Lee chuckled and shook his head.  After a moment of silence, when the words tumbled through his head, bubbling up in his throat in a jumbled, messy confession, he opened his mouth on a helpless sound.  He cleared his throat.  “Aidan’s probably finished.”

“It’s about that man, isn’t it?” 

Lee froze, going tense under Adam’s gentle palm and knowing well that his instinctual reaction gave him away more clearly than any words could have.  “Did you have an encounter like ours?”

“No,” Lee said, closing his eyes, “no, not quite.”

“But something happened?”  Adam squeezed his shoulder more tighter.  “I wasn’t wrong?  I did see that man.”

“Yes,” Lee choked out.  “I—“

The door handle shook violently, startling them both, but it was only Aidan on the other side.  He shouted through the door: “You better not be leaving me out of anything interesting!” he teased through the door.

Slightly hysterical laughter burbled up in Lee’s throat, and Adam gave him a regretful look as he moved to open the door.  Lee got the feeling that Adam knew he’d been about to confess, but that the urgency of the moment was broken.  The confession about vampires was shoved very firmly back down into Lee’s breast; the effort almost caused him physical pain.

He went back, fingers closed on the lock, and turned to Lee.  “I’ll tell Dean,” he admitted under his breath.  “I thought you should know.  I wish you’d reconsider.”  He hesitated, then continued: “You know the mess around this, you’ve seen the bodies.  I don’t want you to end up hurt,” he admitted softly.  “I like to think we’re friends, and if there’s anything I can do….”

Lee nodded simply, and Adam sighed and opened the door.  For Aidan’s benefit, and perhaps as a silent promise to keep quiet about Lee’s aborted confession, he said: “I’ll file all the paperwork; it’s our fault after all.  Thank you for calling me.”  He smiled at Aidan as he passed, but Lee could see the tension in his shoulders as he strolled down the hall (and hopefully back to his bed, though Lee seriously doubted it).

Aidan looked at him a little suspiciously.  “I’m ready for you in room one,” he said, inspecting Lee’s face.  “You got it all figured out?”

Lee gave a small, bright smile and stood with a stretch.  “We will.  Adam’s got it under control; he’s going to tell Dean about it and see if he can shed any light.”  With more false cheerfulness that he was sure Aidan could see straight through, he added:  “So!  Let’s get finished up here so we can get out and maybe enjoy the sunlight sometime this winter!”

It didn’t take long: the man’s identification was tucked into his belongings and the cause of death was clear if perturbing. 

(It was also unsurprising, and Aidan crowed and said: “Another one!”  Lee thought his glee over the potential mystery was a little inappropriate, considering the poor man lying dead between them).

 

 

The pier was dark, silent but for the hum of traffic on the nearby highway.  A long line of headlights writhed against the shore of the lake, a shifting aura the color of sunlight against the looming dark hills beyond.  It was winter and the pier, with its ghostly fogs rolling up to sink through even the warmest of bodies, was abandoned but for two tall men.

Richard leaned against the rail at the end of the pier, some of the tension in his shoulders dissolving.  “Thank you.”

“Always.”  Graham let out a long stream of smoke, rolling his cigarette between his fingers.  “Though I wish you wouldn’t get yourself into trouble like this.”

Richard let out one explosive breath.  The wood creaked beneath the grip of his fingers.  “I know.  But I can’t just let him….”

“I know you can’t,” Graham said, tossing the burning cherry into the black water.  Far away, there was a chorus on honking.  “You never could.  If I were smart I’d stay away from you: it’s only a matter of time before he finds you again.  This mess….  You know the pattern.  You know he’s close.”

“Young ones, I know,” Richard said.  “But he knows I’m here.”

“Then it’s only a matter of time before he shows up in the flesh,” Graham warned.  “I’d tell you to leave, but I can see that you won’t. ”  He leaned over the end of the pier next to Richard.  The weight of his gaze was palpable.  “You certainly got out of Marseilles fast enough.  And Johannesburg, too.  What’s so different about this place?”

“Nothing.”  But Richard knew the abruptness of his response exposed his lie to his oldest friend.  He could practically feel Graham’s incredulous eyes raking ver him, searching for the answer.  “It’s not this place,” he corrected.  “It’s this time.  I’ve been running too long.  There’ve been too many casualties since Marseilles.  I have to do something.”  Hesitant, he looked over at Graham.  The other man was staring pensively outward.  “Do you think I’m wrong?”

“I think you’re lying,” said Graham.  “At least to yourself.”  He clapped a hand over Richard’s shoulder.  “Something’s changed.  I don’t know what, or why you chose some dinky town in middle America for this confrontation, but I know you chose it for a reason.  My only question is what that reason is.”

It wasn’t easy to lie.  “Mine, too.”

Graham snorted and shook his head.  “You’ll tell me in your own time, I’m sure.  You always did keep your cards close to your chest.”

“I don’t want to get you any deeper into trouble than you already are.  I’d never forgive myself if you were killed.”  He closed his eyes, swallowed hard.  “They got Jed, you know.  Last night.”

“I know,” Graham murmured.  The hand on Richard’s shoulder gentled.  “He knew what he was getting into,” he assured, “just like I do.  You can’t protect everyone.  The lines are drawn, and you know as well as I do that eventually all of us will have to choose sides.  I’d rather be on yours, even if….”

“Even if what?” Richard asked.

Graham looked at him in weighty silence.  “You know I think Ian’s right, don’t you?  Not about everything, certainly, but at least in some things.”

“Should I worry about wavering loyalty?” Richard begged.  He knew his voice spoke for him:  _If you deserted me, I couldn’t bear it._

“I love you more than I love my ideals,” Graham explained with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “And you well know it, too, so wipe that look off your face.”

“I trust you,” Richard affirmed, and let his friend put an arm around his shoulders and give him a shake.

“You’d better.  Sometimes I think I’m the only one in this world with your best interest at heart.”

They stood in companionable silence for a time before Richard sighed.  “Do you think I should get away?”

“I told you,” Graham said, “that I find import in different things than you do.  If it were up to me, I’d tell you to run forever.  I’d tell you I think you’re foolish, and blind, and that you’re fighting a losing battle.  But you’d never forgive me.”

“I’d forgive you anything,” Richard protested.  Graham snorted, but it wasn’t derisive.

“No, you wouldn’t.  You’d try, but when the day came that Ian had his way, you’d despise me almost as much as you’d despise yourself.  I’ll stay, this time.  I’ll stay until you don’t need me anymore.”

“Thank you,” Richard murmured, rubbing his face.  “For everything.”

“Always,” Graham repeated.  “Now, I’m dying for a drink.  You’re buying.”

Richard chortled and nodded, turning away to return to the warm lights of the city—to the lingering shadows where any enemy might lurk.  There was a lanky figure approaching with rapid steps, though the man tripped.  Illuminated from the back as he was, it was impossible to see him.

“ _Richard?_ ”

Richard’s head snapped up.  That face might be a mystery, but that voice had taken up uncomfortable residence in his breast.

The young coroner stood, splay-legged as a baby deer and with his hands held out.  Then he staggered, grasping for the rail of the pier and missing, turning on his heel.  “I can’t take this anymore,” he groaned.  He turned to stride away, though less sure on his feet than he had been, but without warning Graham leapt forward and gripped him by the collar, to haul him back and prevent his escape.

Graham’s hand over his mouth stifled a shocked cry, and in a panic Richard could only shout: “Don’t!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how morgues work, in case that wasn't obvious.


	3. Chapter 3

The coroner scrabbled at Graham’s wrist, leaving marks as he tried to free himself, looking at Richard with wide pale eyes.  It was difficult to tear his gaze away and look at Graham, who scowled hard and tightened his grip.  Lee kicked one foot and choked, and Richard held out his hands in supplication, his desperation too obvious to contest.

“He knows?  Richard!”  Of course Graham would be exasperated; Richard didn’t begrudge him his anger, but it was the least of his worries.

“Let him go,” Richard said, though he couldn’t look away from the young man’s face.  His panic sent memories racing through Richard’s veins like haunting spirits, chased by _Lee his name is Lee he loves almost everyone he likes to pick apart puzzles cherry no apple no peach pie and a mother’s smile and the first flush of accomplishment_ Richard gagged a bit, turning away from them to gain control of himself.  The urge to sink his teeth into the long throat again, to swim deeper in those memories, to taste the familiar soul again was overwhelming.  He heard Graham drop the coroner, heard the desperate panting for air the rough coughing.

“Seriously,” the coroner moaned.  “Why is everyone trying to kill me?  The worst thing I’ve ever done was to get a speeding ticket!”  He staggered.

“No one’s trying to kill you, child,” Graham growled; he had little patience with humans, though Richard often reminded him that everyone had been human once and without the benefit of centuries or experience.

Lee made an indignant noise, rubbing his throat and glaring at the both of them.  “You’ll have to—” he coughed loudly, “forgive me.  I’ve had a few too many near-death experiences lately.”  He dropped down onto a bench, heedless of the dusting of snow he displaced.  A few flakes drifted down and landed in his hair.  Richard despised that he noted those flakes, the soft sweep of pale brown hair.

“Let me buy you a drink.”  The instinct to wipe that vulnerable look off the coroner’s—Lee’s—face was insurmountable.  Richard had to close his eyes and swallow; his control was slipping, his desire overcoming his morals and his common sense.

“What?”  Graham startled, staring over at him as if trying to see through his skin.  Richard was still flooded with memories not his own, and the heady feel of Lee’s beating heart was still so far away.  It was difficult to concentrate with Lee standing so close and fairly radiating confusion and desire.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Graham.  Please?”  Richard felt more subservient than anything, balancing Lee’s incredulity and Graham’s incoherent anger.  There wasn’t going to be any balance for this delicate scale.  “Please?”

His friend, still bristling, shrugged his coat back on and strode off; the set of his shoulders plainly told Richard that the next time he spoke with Graham, harsh words would pass between them.  Lee watched him go with his mouth open, and then turned back to Richard.  His bewilderment gave way to a bashful smile.  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, and where it should have been a polite quip, Lee’s voice was fraught with leftover tension.  He added: “I’m getting tired of getting almost killed.”

“No one will hurt you,” Richard assured again, stifling the instinct to lean closer, to examine and kiss the red marks of Graham’s large hand spreading over those still-healing gouges in his throat.

“You only say that when someone actually just hurt me pretty badly,” Lee joked weakly. “I’m scared that if I take you up on that drink we’ll run into another one of your friends and I’ll end up eviscerated in the middle of the bar.”

Richard stepped closer; the urge to touch the brilliant marks on that pale skin was overwhelming.  _No please no oh baby I’m so proud of you_ , and Richard had to take firm hold of himself.  It had been a long while since he’d been so affected.   “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.  He held out one hand, a peace offering, and the coroner stared at it a moment before raising his incredulous gaze to Richard’s face.  He took the hand and the help to his feet.  “Well?”

“I guess so,” Lee said; the part of Lee still living in Richard’s skin swirled with curiosity and—unbelievably—attraction.  Some of Richard’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Lee quickly withdrew his hand and turned away with another cough.

“Lead the way,” Richard said, gesturing expansively and hoping his own cavalier attitude would reassure the young coroner.

They walked in heavy silence from the pier, crossing the street into a little bar that Lee favored.  It had few tables and fewer seats, where a young woman with purple hair and a pert nose wiped a smattering of crumbs from a table and brought them whiskey with a half-hearted smile.  Lee swallowed his first drink in a single long swallow and gestured for another, though he nursed his second.

He sat across the table from Richard, and looked as if he were struggling with how to speak.  His gaze strayed, as if he couldn’t have maintained eye contact with Richard for long, but inevitably he always looked back.  Richard struggled with Lee’s presence; he’d tasted pomegranates, and he wanted more, but the young man across from him shied away.

“Well?” Lee asked.  “We’ve got a drink.  Now what are we doing here?”  He sounded confident, his tone assertive, but his face was flushed red and he kept rubbing the back of his neck.  It was a blatant expression of interest, but Richard didn’t need it: he could feel Lee’s interest down to his bones.

“I wish I knew,” he murmured.  It was a struggle to fight his own arousal and Lee’s both.

“I thought you might want….” Lee coughed and took another long draught.  His embarrassment was both well-hidden and obvious to anyone who might look hard enough.

“What were you doing out there tonight?” Richard asked.  He had feared for Lee since that night; sure that his presence had been noted by whomever was following him, sure that someone had taken note of his swift exit from the morgue and therefore of the marks on Lee’s neck.  He was afraid someone might have smelled him on Lee and tried to use Lee to get to him.  He tried not to sound suspicious, but his skin prickled with the possibility.  Perhaps showing up so blatantly in public would throw anyone off the man’s trail—they all took human lovers, after all, and perhaps hiding Lee in plain sight would keep him safer.

Lee cocked his head, then ducked and shrugged.  “Strange things going at work.  I like to walk.  You know?  Maybe you don’t, though.”  His eyes were sharp.

Richard couldn’t help it, he blurted: “No one sent you?”

At this Lee tensed, and Richard’s throat closed down with fear, but the awkward tilt of Lee’s head and the suspicion in his eyes spoke volumes for his innocence.  “’Sent me’?”

“Never you mind,” Richard murmured, taking a calculated sip of his whiskey.  He hadn’t meant to give so much away, but Lee leaned forward and searched his face actively.  “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Who would have sent me?” Lee asked.  His whole body canted toward Richard, his posture open and eager.

“It’s best you don’t know,” Richard said, and bent closer across the table.  Then, ducking his head, he murmured, “Lower your voice.”

The vague fear that raced across Lee’s face pained him, and he reached across the table to put his hand over Lee’s, wrapping fingers around and into a warm, sweaty palm.  “Best I don’t know,” hissed Lee, but he accepted the touch—though it seemed mostly unconscious.  His eyes glinted green in the dim light.  “What kind of thing is that to say? “ 

“Lee, please.”

Lee’s brows contracted, and his fingers jerked in Richard’s grip as though he were trying to get away.  “How do you know my name?”

At this Richard flinched. “I’ll tell you—”

“You were the one following me, weren’t you?” Lee asked.  His face spoke his betrayal, his mouth twisting a little as he drew back.  Richard winced, a wave of dashed expectation flooded off Lee so strongly that it choked him.  A worse thought pushed through his mind: his fears realized. They had found Lee.

“Someone was following you?”

Lee glared at him.  “I know you think I’m young, but I’m not stupid.  Don’t do that.”  He downed the rest of his drink, refusing to meet Richard’s gaze, and slid out of his chair.  Richard leapt up and gripped his wrist.  “Let me go.  You’re nuts.  You really are.”  Then, more pained, Lee added: “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

“No, please.  Wait.”

Lee jerked free, and worry closed Richard’s throat; he wasn’t sure how to stop Lee, how to make him listen.  He wasn’t sure whether he ought to do it or whether self-interest made him take off after the coroner.

“Lee,” he croaked, “wait.”  It was all he could think of to say.

Lee shook his head as he shrugged into his coat and scarf, his posture back to that wary stance he’d had when he’d first woken, bloodied, in his own morgue.  Richard followed him out into the street, his eyes darting to and fro along the street, lingering in the shadowed alleys, skimming over the face of every passing stranger as he struggled to catch up to Lee’s long strides.

“Lee!”

The man shook his head, coat bundled tightly around him, and in a brief panic Richard lunged forward and grabbed his arm, using all his strength to haul Lee into an alley and push him against the wall.  Lee struggled violently, pushing him away, and Richard took a deep breath and used that tenuous connection between them to reach out, to wrap energy around Lee in an effort to calm him.  Lee turned as vacant as he had before, submitting to the hand Richard put against his neck.  Using that taut invisible string between them, Richard lowered his voice.  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Richard told him.  “I’m safe, but I’m afraid for you.  I need you to trust me.  I need you to come home with me.  I need you to listen to me.”

He slowly released Lee from the cocoon of his energy, and watched as he came back to himself.  Those wide eyes blinked at him; Lee was confused only briefly before he made another wounded face. 

“You did that thing again, didn’t you?”

Richard inclined his head, but Lee just slumped against the wall as Richard’s pleas took root in his conscious mind.  Beseechingly, he said: “I wish you wouldn’t do that to me.  You saved me, right?  I’d trust you.”

“I’m sorry.”  He wasn’t sorry, not really, because at least Lee wasn’t running from him anymore.  He was lying, and it made him choke on his words.  “Listen, I’ll explain what I can to you.  Come home with me?”

Lee gave a weak little smile.  “I’m not that cheap a date,” he mumbled, but there was a flush on his face.

“To talk,” Richard clarified.  “To explain.” 

For a moment, Richard wondered whether his power had weakened or failed—the very thought made him panic—because Lee took so long to respond.  Then, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck, Lee mimicked Richard’s earlier gesture and said: “Lead the way.”

Richard couldn’t help but chuckle and lead Lee back towards his decrepit Honda.

 

 

When they arrived back at the modest two-story he inhabited, Richard was relieved to find his door still locked.  While that was a relief, he held up a hand to halt Lee and signaled for him to wait until he had turned on the lights and made a cursory inspection.  When he looked back, Lee was biting his lip; Richard could sense only curiosity and not apprehension.

Lee stood awkwardly in the living room, hands shoved into his pockets, amusement written on his face as he took in the faded couch with Richard’s favorite blanket thrown over the back and the sloppy pile of mail (none of it Richard’s) still sitting in the corner.

“What?” Richard asked, smiling.  He held out a hand for Lee’s coat, hanging it beside his own on the stand behind the door.  “You didn’t think I slept in a coffin in the basement, did you?”

A snort was his only response..  “All you said was the sun didn’t bother you.”

“I had Italian for dinner last night, too,” Richard murmured, sinking into the armchair near the window.  Cautiously, Lee lowered himself onto the couch.

“It’s just not what I was expecting,” he admitted.  “I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t….”  He waved a hand, and looked around again.

“A house?” Richard asked.

He was rewarded with that hearty laugh that sent his heart skittering.

 “Exactly,” Lee said.  “It’s so normal.”

“I’m not so strange,” Richard assured him.  The tension in the room had eased; Richard had never been so glad of his shabby accommodation than when he saw the rigidity in Lee’s spine dissipate.  The man slumped against the arm of the couch and raised one inquisitive brow.

“You’re pretty strange,” he said.  “At least, the strangest person I ever met.  Maybe I need to get out more.  Are you blushing?”

“I doubt it,” Richard said wryly.  “Though I would if I could.”

“So sunlight’s ok. Garlic’s ok. You’re still dead?”

Richard shrugged.  “I suppose so.  It’s more complicated than that.”

Something about that made Lee lean forward, his expressive face alight with curiosity.  “Well?  I’ve got all night.”  He took his lip between his teeth and placed his elbows on knees with his hands dangling between his knees.

It had been so long since Richard had had any interaction with a human that for a brief moment he was stumped.  He opened his mouth once, then twice, then finally—sheepishly—he offered: “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about with why you were stalking me?”

It was such a surprising thing to say that Richard couldn’t find words.  For a brief moment he had the urge to tell Lee that he was just as much a mystery to Richard as Richard was to Lee himself; it was baffling, how he could break Richard’s self-control with very little effort.  “I wasn’t,” he finally managed. 

It was obvious Lee didn’t believe him.  “Then how do you know my name?”

The easy answer would have been _I went through your wallet while you were unconscious_ , but it would also have been a lie.  He wasn’t even sure whether Lee had had his wallet on him at the time, and he suspected that a lie at this point would damage his credibility critically.  And it was critical that Lee believe him.

“When I, ah, drank from you—.”

“Attacked me.”

Richard closed his eyes and swallowed hard.  “Yes.  I am sorry.”

He blinked hard when a heavy hand pressed against his knee, and opened his eyes to find Lee closer than he had been.  “I know, okay?  Your ‘sorry’ is all over your face.”  Somehow that soothed him into a smile, though he felt the loss keenly when Lee resumed his previous seat.

“When we take blood, we take more than the physical,” he said.  It’s part of how we function.  I told you earlier that ‘vampire’ is the best word for what I am, and it’s true.  What I need isn’t your blood, it’s the—I suppose “spiritual force” is the best way to describe it.  What comes with that is your memories.  So I know you’re name: it’s such an intrinsic part of you. And I know…other things.  But not simple information like where you live, or what school you went to.  Just vague impressions.”

He wasn’t sure whether or not he was imagining Lee sliding closer to him on the couch.  “What else do you know about me?”  He didn’t sound fearful, only nervous.

“You’ve been wounded, you’re tired.  You like the smell of cut grass.  Something about wind.  Things like that.”  Richard watched Lee’s face, longing to tuck his face beneath that firm jaw and learn more.  “Does that make sense?”

“I suppose so.  Energy, huh?  How come the blood-drinking thing, then?”

“There has to be a physical ground.  Well, genetic material.  Things like sweat and tears don’t work.”

Lee laughed, quick and bright.  “Come works?”

It shouldn’t have, but it made Richard uncomfortable.  “Yes, actually.”

The answer immediately silenced Lee, who turned red and cleared his throat.  “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I bet you’d get more volunteers if you offered to blow people rather than trying to eat them,” he joked, but his expression was questioning.

Richard sighed.  “It’s more complicated than that.  Every time we take from someone, they…take up residence, in a way.  At least for a time.  It’s difficult to make an intimate enough connection that way.  It happens if those of us who are inclined that way take a lover.  It’s one of the reasons so many of us grow less picky about lovers as we grow older.”

Lee leaned back, head cocked in a way that exposed even more of the length of his neck.  The marks there were still visible, and Richard clenched his teeth.  “You didn’t know me,” Lee said, “when you jumped on me the other night.  What if I was a terrible human being?  Wait, _am_ I a terrible human being?  How do you even judge that?”

The laugh that came up broke the heavy air saturating the room.  “You’re not a terrible human being,” Richard assured him.

“But you couldn’t have known that.  You didn’t know me.”

“As I told you, those were dire circumstances.  It’s possible to take from anyone.  It isn’t as if they stay with us forever.  Eventually you’ll fade away, unless I keep drinking from you.”

There was one long moment fraught with Lee’s breathing—had it grown heavier?  “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?” Richard asked, distracted by the thrum of confused emotion radiating off Lee and the flush he felt on his own face.

Lee swallowed hard.  “Do you want to take from me again?”  His eyes were enormous, and Richard leaned forward involuntarily, mouth open on a silent answer.  Lee waited, hands pressed down flat on his knees, and the words came bubbling up, involuntary: he knew he should say no, he know he should explain to Lee that it was dangerous to be around him now, but his body thrummed with the desire to say: _Yes, God, please_.

The door suddenly rattled on its hinges, shaking beneath a furious pounding.  Lee gripped the back of the couch, staring with open mouth at the door, as Richard leapt out of his chair and over the couch, racing for a knife before he heard Graham’s familiar shouting outside. 

“Damn you, open the door!”

He skidded to a halt, fear and worry for his friend overwhelming him, and tugged the door open to let Graham stumble inside.  The smell of blood was strong, and vaguely he heard Lee groan and stumble off the couch, staggering to kneel beside Graham as Richard slammed the door shut and bolted it.

“Jesus Christ!  Are you okay—no, no you’re not—let me—”

Graham struggled to his knees and gave Lee a disbelieving look.  He clutched at his chest, fighting Lee’s hands as they tried to pull his clothes open to see the wounds.  “You again?” Graham gasped, glaring hard at Richard as he knelt down.  “I’m out doing your dirty work and you’re trying to get laid?”

Lee, distracted as he was, paused and looked at Richard with his mouth a little open, but Richard, distracted as he was by Graham’s condition, ignored him.  “I’m not,” he said, ignoring the twinge of regret he felt when Lee turned abruptly away from him.  “That’s not why he’s—what happened?”

Lee had been desperately trying to restrain Graham, clutching at his wrists and murmuring what he thought might be comforting babble at a wounded man.  Richard saw Graham lose his patience.

“Stop it, man,” Graham growled, finally grabbing Lee’s wrists and stilling his hands.  “You want to be useful, give me something I can use.”

“What?”  Lee was obviously still panicked about the severity of the wounds.

“Don’t hurt him,” Richard warned.  Then, as an afterthought, he cocked his head at Lee.  “Will you let him drink?”

Lee’s mouth dropped open farther.  “He’s hurt, I need to—!”

“That will help more than anything you could do.”  Graham was trying to be patient, and Richard squeezed his shoulders in appreciation.

Lee looked miffed: “I’m perfectly capable!”

“Trust me,” Richard said, clenching his hand tightly on Graham’s shoulder.  It was a struggle not to force Lee, not with Graham in such bad shape and in dire need of what was sitting right before him.  He kept his energy reined in tightly.  Instead he begged: “Please!”

“Okay,” Lee breathed finally, though he still looked doubtful.

With the slightest permission, Graham crushed Lee’s wrist to his mouth and bit down hard, ignoring the strangled cry Lee let out and taking eagerly.

Richard felt the desperate urge to abate the forlorn look on Lee’s face; Lee was gazing down at where Graham sucked from him, then flicking his gaze back to Richard.  Richard felt desperate to hold him, to make real his promises to keep him safe.  Instead, he spoke.

“Remember I said that I attacked you because of dire circumstances?” Richard asked, partially to explain, partially to distract Lee: he hated the pained look all over his face.

“Ow,” Lee groaned.  “Yes.”

“He needs it just as badly.”

“Then,” Lee hiccoughed, “then you needed it even more.  You were dead!  His wounds are….”

“Deadly,” Richard said.

Lee swallowed convulsively.  “Dizzy,” he warned.  “I’m—”

Richard tucked a hand behind his head as he swayed.  “Will you let him take as much as you can stand?  You’ll pass out, but I won’t let him kill you.”

“Uh.”  It was instinct, Richard could sense, to do what was best for a presumed patient.  And Lee was giving, and Lee—Richard cursed himself—was still under his compulsion from before: trust me.  He gagged; Lee had no choice but to say yes.  But Graham needed it, needed him, and so he pushed it back.

“Lee, please.”  He tightened the compulsion, and hated himself.

“Okay.”  Lee went glassy-eyed and then his head fell back and he slumped against Graham’s shoulder, slipping in his grip.

“Graham, stop.  Please.”  Graham pulled himself away with a struggle, let Lee fall to the floor.  “Fuck,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  Blood still pulsed darkly against his chest, but he was less frantic.  “Come upstairs, come to the bathroom.  Let me get you some clothes.”

Graham accepted his help to get up, leaning heavily against him as they staggered up the short flight of stairs to the second floor bathroom, where there were tools to care for wounds.  He slouched on the toilet while Richard gathered the necessary items and pulled his filthy clothes off, tossing them into the bathtub.  When he’d come back to himself he looked keenly up at Richard and growled: “Those fuckers move fast.”

“Ian?”

“One of his lackeys; no one I knew.  Fuck!”  The wounds were deep, and though blood still pulsed down his chest and belly it was growing thicker and darker and the wounds were fading even as e spoke.  Richard tried cleaning up as best he could, but Graham kept swatting him away.  It hardly surprised him, but it made it difficult to focus on what he was saying.  “The young ones are getting bolder; I killed them.  I killed all of them, but he’ll send someone else, someone stronger.”

“Graham,” Richard breathed.  He knelt and pressed his forehead against Graham’s knee.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Told you I’d follow you,” Graham rumbled, putting a hand on the back of his head.  “Knock it off, we’ve got more important things to do.”

“Where did they get you?  And why?”

“To frighten you off, I’d suppose.  Or to make you feel it.  Ian knows how long we’ve been together, he knows—”

“He knows what you are to me.”  Richard rubbed his eyes.  “Shit!  I hadn’t expected it to be so soon.  I thought we had time!”

“You and me both, my friend.”  Graham gave him a wan, blood-tinged smile and clapped him on the shoulder.  “But we don’t.  These young ones, they’re just his warning.  Like you said, he knows you’re here.  And like I said, it’s only a matter of time until he shows up looking for you.  There’s only so much I can do.”

“I can’t run,” Richard said, looking up beseechingly.  He knew already that he was in trouble.  Ian had never moved this fast before—perhaps he’d sensed that now was the time.  “Not now, at least.  You’re all right?”

“Of course I’m alright, I just came to warn you to watch your back.  I doubt they’ll go after you already.  They hardly came after me—could’a killed me, I’m guessing, if they’d wanted.  There were too many. Just a warning.”

Richard let out one long breath and pressed his fingertips into his eyes.  “Christ.”

“We should go after the rest of them,” Graham said; his tone made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion.

Richard took it for what it was, but all he could say was: “But you…you killed them.”

“You know they’ve got some warren around here somewhere.  Listen, Rich, you said you wanted to fight.  If you’re going fight, you going to have to _fight_.  You know we could do it.  Send a message just as clear as the one Ian just sent you.”

“God.”

“You were the one who wanted to fight.  You have to stomach what that takes.”

“I know that.”

Graham gripped the back of his neck, forced his face up.  “Do you know that?”

Richard swallowed hard, but held the gaze.  “Yes.  I do.”

“Then we have to do it.”

Richard nodded firmly.  “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my tutorial on how to clumsily shoehorn in some exposition.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the eponymous poem by William Blake.
> 
> Inspiration from a prompt at the kink meme.


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